I pull out a stack of note cards, passing half to Taylor without looking in his direction as he sits our coffees down between us. He insisted on meeting at the coffee shop today because he just had to have a pumpkin spice latte. I joked that his period must be coming soon, and he hasn't yet forgiven me considering the silent treatment I've been given.

He begins writing the terms I highlighted for him immediately, while I get my materials set up. My half of the notecards, my term list, a highlighter to cross them out as I go, a black pen for the term and a red pen for the answer. Once the station is set up to my standards I dive into the list. I pick up the black pen and write Mitochondria. I flip the card over and reach for the red pen.

"You really gonna do that for every single one?" Taylor asks, raising only his eyes in my direction.

"You don't get to question my methods until you prove that you can ace this test with those. Which may be difficult considering you write like a toddler," I say pointing at the barely legible blue font on his already almost completed stack of cards. "Until then, I will create the flashcards how I would want."

We continue to work in silence for the next few minutes, aside from the soft jazz tunes and whirl of the espresso machines making up the background noise.

"What are your plans for the weekend Capt?" Taylor asks, no doubt growing impatient considering he finished his cards five minutes ago, and I still have at least fifteen terms to go.

"Personal lives, off limits," I remind him.

"Oh come on, we're past that aren't we? Seriously, entertain me with your wild plans. I have to sit on the sidelines again sweating my ass off in the heat for nothing. I need to know at least one of us is having fun," He whines. Definitely getting his period soon.

"You're supporting your team arent' you?" I ask, while slowly writing the steps of eukaryotic cells.

"I do so much by listening to play calls and handing out squirts of water with the trainers." He looks at me with those big green eyes, now resembling that of a tiny innocent puppy. "Come on, at least tell me what you're doing tonight since I have to be locked in my hotel room by ten."

"I have so many plans that I don't think we would make it through all of them before that ten pm bed check," I nonchalantly say, now writing about the process of prokaryotic cells.

"No plans, but you're a freshman girl, you could get in anywhere. Imagine all the sorority girls you could make cry from just staring at them for too long while you wait in line." He laughs at his own joke, but quickly stops when I give him a death glare. It's as if he's forgotten everything I shared with him through tears and a snot dripping nose.

"If you didn't pick up on it from the drunken spin off of Cake Wars I put on a few weeks ago and my suicide attempt, alcohol and I don't mix. If you want to get technical, I'm supposed to be practicing 'sobriety' as part of my treatment." I put air quotes around sobriety, only because alcohol wasn't really the problem. Regardless, I make sure I stay in control now, sans showing up at Taylor's house shitfaced. "I do actually think my dad would lock me in a tower if he knew I drank again and risked bringing shame unto his reputation, especially with a chance to have a back to back championship season."

"It's not like you were an alcoholic, right?" Taylor asks innocently. It's the first indication that he does in fact remember our conversation.

"Well, no, but it's a downer. I need to stay away from downers, and uppers, and all things that could mess with the progress I've made."

"Yeah, sure, binge drinking. But can you still enjoy a party? I mean I've seen you at parties and drinking. What was that about?" Taylor starts to ramble, tapping his pen against the palm of his other hand.

"I miss the days when personal lives were off limits," I say looking past Taylor's shoulder, pretending to be disengaged from the moment, acting as if two weeks can be counted as nostalgia.

"C'mon Quinn, just trying to know if I need to contain myself around you."

"I don't think you could contain your true self even if you tried, Cowboy."

"So you won't like, spaz if I chug a beer right now? Right in front of you?" He asks. I giggle because it's almost like he's nervous. Like his actions would be the final blow to actually break me.

"Well technically, if you chugged a beer in front of me right now I could report you for student misconduct. But no, alcohol was never really the problem. It was all the other shit in my life that made me overindulge. I made some bad decisions, my current state is just me trying to deal with them. So I can finally walk away and never look back."

Taylor just nods, apparently satisfied.

We fall silent again, I sip my coffee and continue writing flash cards. Black, flip, red. Black, flip, red. I don't look up again until I'm finished. All while Taylor is leaning back scrolling on his phone, seemingly uninterested in our previous topic, thank god.

🏈🏈🏈

By Monday morning I was fully prepared for our biology exam. Much to Taylor and Alyssa's objections, I spent the weekend studying and could name all the functions of both plant and animal cells in my sleep. At one point I actually fell asleep at the library, only waking up after I had a terrifying dream that a human sized nucleus was staring at me from across the room. It had somehow experienced a genetic mutation, but instead of killing itself, it just kept doubling in size, bigger and bigger until it suffocated me in the room. I can only assume it was somehow a metaphor for my life in some capacity. One that I am choosing not to divulge into.

I was thankful the team traveled this weekend, and that Taylor made the short drive to Michigan State with a few others who weren't aren't active. Not only am I avoiding anyone close to my dad, but after all the conversations between Taylor and I last week, I needed a break.

I want him to know me, I think. He's the first person aside from Gabi, and Dr. Hartwell to show sincere interest. As much as I would like to be surprised at that fact, I can't. Taylor has been surprising me for weeks now.

Something shifted between us at the junkyard. An unspoken understanding was reached, and we haven't looked back. I've found myself wanting to be that Camryn, an open book begging to be read.Taylor's curiosity has only fueled my need to share.

Again the other day, I gave him a guarded front, but within minutes he had pried it down again. Until I was sharing more and more of myself, the pieces of me that I don't let others see. Little by little, I've added words to the page of the version that is solely mine, no proof reading or politically correct revisions made by my dad anywhere in sight.

I see something wave in my periphery, and it vaguely resembles a hand. It's enough to pull me from my own thoughts.

"You okay there Capt.?" Taylor says retreating to his usual spot in the lecture hall, leaving two seats between us. "You ever heard of daydreaming, Cowboy?" I question back.

"Well, course I have, just didn't think vampires were able to dream." One of the corners of his mouth raises, sending a shiver through me. I clear my throat to change the subject and reset my nervous system.

"Hmph. What's the function of the lysosome?" I challenge him.

"To clean? You know like Lysol," he answers, lacing his fingers behind his head.

"Okay technically, but the disinfectant is in no way related. Did you even use the study guide we made?"

"Whatever helps me remember enough to pick the best multiple choice question is my method of studying, Quinn," Taylor says before turning to talk to a teammate who sat down on his other side. I shake my head and turn my attention to the TA at the front of the auditorium giving instructions for the exam.

I finished with fifteen minutes to spare, which gives me plenty of time to grab food before I'm supposed to tutor Paul from the golf team. Paul is painfully unaware of anything that doesn't involve the physics of golf, so I need sustenance to not snap and smother him with his quartzip.

Walking out of the building, I'm blinded by the sun that has now risen high into the sky. I fish my headphones and sunglasses out of my backpack and turn the corner of the building. Taylor quickly falls into step beside me as he rips one of my ear buds out of my ear.

"What the fuck!" I shout at him, but don't bother slowing down.

"That test fucked me is what the fuck," he says. "There was no question about lysosomes at all."

"And? There were plenty of other's about cells and processes," I practically growl the words at him, trying to convey my growing annoyance.

"So I gave you a look many times asking for help. And nothing!" He pulls out the ear bud that I had just replaced.

"You know cheating is against the rules, right?" We've reached the coffee shop doors which I attempt to open, but Taylor beats me to it, holding it ajar and ushering me inside. It feels so casual for him to have just followed me here, to hold the door for me. My head spins with the spectrum of emotions. One second I want him to be this guy, this...friend. Another second I'm pissed at his idiocy.

"Aren't we a team though, Capt.? You couldn't even give me a little play call. You know a nose scratch for A or a shoulder tap for B," he says mimicking the motions as he speaks. I pause to order my drink before responding. The barista doesn't look at me though. Her eyes are locked on Taylor studying the menu. He's clueless, or he isn't and this is part of his game. By ignoring her, he's only making her want him more. A forbidden fruit, just barely out of reach until he decides to drop it at her feet.

I continue to watch him as I swipe my card and move to the side. Sure enough, when it's his turn to order, he flashes his straight white smile at her. I want to make a gagging sound when he compliments the tattoo of a rose on her wrist. I make an internal wager that she will write her number on his cup. It wouldn't be the first time it's happened when we come here.

We move further into the cafe to find an open table while we wait for our drinks. "If you gave as much energy to studying as you do to flirting you would have no problem with school work," I say.

"Excuse me, I give my energy to football. That is what matters," he answers.

"Well whatever steroids you shoot up must make you susceptible to memory loss too. Football doesn't stop you from drinking and fucking anything placed in your line of vision," I snort.

"Ya know Quinn, it might hurt more that you think these muscles aren't god-given if I wasn't enjoying you being jealous." He gives me that smirk again. This time the shiver it produces is easily pushed back with anger.

"My point is, maybe next time you should study more, party less. A concept I know is probably so foreign to you, you can't find it without a map." I stand to grab my coffee when my name is called, and of course I see a heart drawn next to the name on Taylor's cup before grabbing it for him too.

"I think that you need to do a better job tutoring me," he tuts when I return to the table.

"You really do want me to kick you in the balls, don't you?"

"Only if you promise to kiss them and make them feel better after." His shit eating grin is enough to make me roll my eyes, but quickly recover. Having had enough of this interaction I take my chance to exit the coffee shop and put as much distance between us as possible. Taylor yells something at my back, but I just turn up my headphones and go back to ignoring him.

🏈🏈🏈

A knock at the door summons me from my sleep. I quickly find my way back into it, only to be awoken a few seconds later by multiple knocks in the cadence of a song. I grumble as I climb down from my bed and let a few fucks slip as I hobble over to the door wrapped in my comforter.

"I swear to god Alyssa, I'm going to super glue your key to your hand if you forget it agai—" I'm frozen in place when I finally swing the door open and see Taylor standing with his hands in his pockets. His ensemble is the usual Taylor outfit of choice, blue jeans and boots. But this time, he's wearing a black bomber jacket layered over his typical gray t-shirt. The collar of his shirt is darker than the rest from the tips of his hair that are still wet from his recent shower.

"You really have to stop showing up here unannounced... and uninvited," I say as I begin to close the door, but Taylor simply jams his massive boot into it creating a stopper, before shoving it back open.

"You have to stop being so sassy when you see me," he fires back.

"Stop giving me a reason to be," I hiss, before collapsing on the futon.

"Come on Quinn! Come out and play with me." Taylor doesn't cross the threshold, instead he speaks to me from the doorway. His arms are above his head hanging onto the top of the doorframe, causing the bottom of his shirt to ride up, giving me a quick peek at the line of hair trailing from his belly button down into his jeans.

"You know you want to," he says, adding one of his damn smirks to the already insufferable visual.

"No one has uttered those words to me since I was eight and they wanted to play cops and robbers in the yard until dinner."

"Let me guess, you were always the cop?'' he asks.

"What makes you say that?" I say, now fighting the urge to slip back into the easy banter with him.

"A chance to dominate anyone, especially with invisible handcuffs and a jail cell," He says it as a declaration rather than a question.

"Whoever says they don't like wielding a little power is lying." I sit up further to look at his face. He's watching me as he says, "Can I come in or are you really going to make me stand here and beg?"

"Taylor Reed begging a female for something? He would never!" I fake being shocked. Covering the wide O of my mouth with my hand.

"Shut up, I'm sore and need to sit down," he says, forgoing my permission and entering anyway, sitting in my desk chair as he does. I fight the urge to laugh at him and the way he is visibly wobbling, like his legs are made from the same plastic as a doll, and don't have joints to bend. Instead, I ask what I did to earn a visit from him.
"I came to see what you're doing," he says matter of factly. I narrow my eyes as if the act alone could help me sniff out the real reason for his visit.

"And you couldn't just text me?" I ask.

"So you could ignore me? I don't think so, Capt." I roll my eyes and motion a hand down the length of my body still wrapped in the pale lavender fabric of my comforter and say, "A real wild night as you can see. I might even have a threesome later." Taylor nearly spits out the coke he helped himself to from our fridge.

"Ben and Jerry have really been wondering why I haven't been answering their calls." I laugh as Taylor connects the dots. "For fucks sake," he mutters under his breath.

He spins himself around four times before his boots skid the chair to a stop. Just as I'm about to ask what he really wants he speaks up."So I've been thinking—" he begins, but I cut him off. "Lord help us all," I snort.

"Ha ha smartass. But I think you are going to like this idea," He says, leaning forward resting the forearms of his jacket on his knees. "You have a problem," he begins. I raise my eyebrows, a signal to keep going. "You want your dad to think you're fine, because you are. You said it yourself, you've worked to change into someone you like, someone who takes the time to take care of all aspects of herself. You want him to trust you, to believe you can be on your own next year. Well you can't just sit in your room and do this, do nothing." He waves his hand around my room for effect. "You have to do something to get that message across to him," He says casually. As if he isn't just putting my words into his own, as if he didn't just prove to me that he was in fact listening intently every time I was speaking.

I digest his words with a gulp. Out of everything I thought Taylor was going to say was my problem I didn't think it would be using what I told him the other day about my dad, about wanting to get away from this place.

He's still leaned forward with his arms resting on his knees. His fingertips are touching in contemplation. He's been thinking about this, this isn't some spur of the moment idea he's spewing.

He's thought this through and his thoughts have somehow brought him here, as if some sort of proposal is about to come. I continue to eye him, but I don't speak. I can't, because I'm too curious about what happens next. So, I give him a subtle nod instead.

"I have a plan," He says as he gives himself a drumroll on my desk. "Make him think you're living the ultimate college experience. One without drinking or doing drugs or becoming an addict, a real one." A wink follows his statement before he continues. I shake my head and mutter about him being an idiot, but he ignores me. "You have to show him that your mental health is under control, that you can handle it, handle yourself. That you're ready for more independence."

"How do you propose I do that? I don't think commissioning a billboard on campus is enough," I joke, still not sure that Taylor's idea is something real, something that I would actually consider.
"So, we go out and do all the things... house parties, bars, everything social," he says fidgeting with a Rubix cube sitting on my desk. "But we also do the other stuff too. Game days, productions on campus, the homecoming bonfire, joining a club, volunteering, anything to be involved in the campus, anything to put yourself out there." When he finishes, his head raises to look at me, no doubt to gauge my reaction to his monologue. I, however, keep my face neutral. I don't want him to see the gears turning in my mind.

"And what makes you so sure? What makes you think that this plan will be the thing that finally makes my dad trust me, trust that I'm okay?" I cross my arms. My head is still swimming with his words.

It makes sense, though. I mean that is what my dad wants. A normal daughter who does all of those things and can balance it all expertly. One who is involved on campus in all the positive ways while staying out of his way.

I curse myself for not thinking of it before. I think if Gabi were here with me, this would have been something she would come up with. Hell, this was her idea, but without her physically here, I had no idea how to put it into action. I was too scared to even know where to begin.

My only plan became about staying hidden in my little shell, which seemed like a much easier way. If I could fly under the radar for a year, skate by on good grades, polite-ish appearances, I could transfer after a year and then do whatever the fuck I want.

"All a parent wants is for their child to be normal, for them to be okay," Taylor says. I flash a middle finger at his insinuation that I am anything but, even though that is what my parent wants.

"Chill Quinn, just—from what you've told me, I think he just wants to make sure that you can handle it all. He's the same way with his players. That's why he pushes the fuck out of us to go to class and tutoring and with workouts, but also doesn't bust our balls about the drinking and partying."

I consider this for a second. I appreciate that Taylor isn't taking my dads side— simply saying he doesn't think there is a problem with me— but instead, for me to live my life the way I want I might have to give my dad more of what he wants. The thought is enough to bring back memories of before, of trying to fit into his mold. Back before everything changed and he refused to change with it.

"I don't want to be his perfect fucking daughter, Taylor. I want to be myself and have him accept that," I spew, the anger boils inside me once again. I stand up and begin busying myself with cleaning up the piles of clothes laying around our room. Suddenly becoming self conscious at the fact that a pair of my underwear are laying a mere inch from Taylor's boot.

"I'm not saying you need to change. I don't think you're capable," He says before adding, "I'm saying that if you want something bad enough, you might have to put in extra work."

"Like you and your bum knee?" I ask.

"Not a bum knee... but yeah. I have to workout twice as hard now just to catch up to where I was. It sucks ass, but if I don't, I won't get what I want." His features have fallen into a pinched position. It's enough to tell me he means everything he's saying, and that he's serious.

"What's in this for you? Why do you want to help me at all?" I ask now with my back to him as I straighten up everything on Alyssa's desk.

"Besides getting rid of you next year?" Taylor teases, but when I turn around his face is the opposite of a joke, the seriousness still lingers. "I know what it's like to not be enough for a parent. I also know what it feels like when dreams start to come true. And if I can help you feel that feeling too, I'd do anything."

I have difficulty swallowing his words. It's hard not to find it sweet. This idea that Taylor has taken all the aspects of me that haunt me, that are the very binds holding me back from who I could be, and want to be, and turned them into something with purpose. He's no longer the guy whose athleticism, charm, and good looks have carried him thus far in his life. This version of him is the one who baked the cake with me, and talked me through my dark day, the one who keeps me wanting to be the better version of myself.

When I don't respond he adds, "And it wouldn't hurt to have someone to keep me sober so I can rehab faster and play a little harder this year."

"You seriously can't just not drink?" I ask honestly.

"Believe it or not, when you're an important part of a world famous team and everyone knows who you are, they practically shovel free drinks down your throat and find it rude when you don't drink them."

I roll my eyes before responding, "Sounds like you should take a page from my book and just stay home."

"You've been to my house Camryn and you've been around your brother. You see what people expect from us, from me. All I'm asking is for you to have fun with me, but also keep me straight. I will make sure your dad see's how 'normal' you can be." He adds quotations around normal and I thank him with a smirk.

"If I say yes ... which I'm not," I emphasize to show that I'm not agreeing, yet. "When would this little experiment begin?"

"Right now," he says. "It's karaoke night at The Union"

"Karaoke sober is more of a horrible idea than mullets making a comeback," I say as Taylor fakes offended, even though his hair is hardly a mullet and actually looks good.
"Yeah, but karaoke with a bunch of drunk people when you're sober is extra funny because they have no idea how awful they are." He adds a huge smile to the end of his words, no doubt turning up his charm to convince me to say yes and to end this conversation. "Consider this me cashing in my favor you owe me."

I roll my eyes again, I don't see how this is a favor for him, unless seeing me with crippling social anxiety is satisfying to him. Not to mention, he already claimed to cash in this favor when he ambushed me at the art museum.

"What would I even sing?" I ask, surprising myself by even considering this.

"I have the perfect song." He smiles and extends a hand to me. A gentleman's way of sealing a deal. I bite the inside of my cheek as I wearily step forward and nuzzle my hand into his.

"Now go change. You look homeless," He says as he takes a swig from his coke.